Catastrophic Memory
by Lily and Shadow
Summary: Mello has been having strange dreams and disturbing visions. The only thing that's clear in any of it is that he is no longer able to determine what's real and what isn't. A little odd at times, please read first A/N.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Hola. I'm going to start this off by saying that as much as I love my readers and a much as most of my stories are at least partially for you guys, this one is just for me. It's an experiment. I'll warn you now that it may be difficult to follow, that it is subject to random editing at any given time, and that I will probably end up pulling the characters out of character at least a little in a few places. However, as odd as this story may be, I do intend to keep the core of it cannon. And if all goes as planned then I can guarantee that you will be confused in places, so I encourage you to just keep reading. But here you get a glimpse of the real reason I write fanfiction: Experimentation. It's there in pretty much everything else, just in a more subtle form. So for those of you who are still reading after that, thank you. Please hold on to your minds and remember details, details, details. Sorry about the short intro.

**Disclaimer:** Death Note belongs to Ohba-sensei and Obata-sensei. I'm just borrowing the characters for a bit.

* * *

Mello sat perfectly still in the deafening silence, alone but for the broken mannequins scattered across the checkered tile floor. He was delusional. He had to be. There was no way the horrible images playing through his mind under the guise of memories could be real. No way. The boy felt nearly ready to put a bullet through his head to make it stop. It was painful and strange and rendered him powerless. And in spite of the silence he couldn't hear a thing above the noise.

Somewhere in his mind there were gunshots and fire and people shrieking in terror. Above all the roar, however, rose a single, piercing scream from the throat of a woman. He sat beside her, a little boy with little boy eyes. He had little boy hopes and little boy fears, and he had a little boy way of interpreting the world. The woman could not be dead, no, because that was not how the world worked. Never mind the blood that drenched his shirt, that soaked the knees of his pants where he had knelt beside her in the muck that coated the decimated streets, a tarry mixture of ash and clay and brackish water. No, she couldn't be dead, because mommies didn't die.

The scene, such as it was, seemed to distort around him. Always the colours were never quite right, the sounds elusive, and the whole thing utterly foreign yet agonizingly familiar. And yet when it was gone, it would leave no trace. He wouldn't remember a thing until the next time these supposed memories claimed him, closing over him like the lid of a casket.

Once, through the murky haze in which he found himself suspended during these episodes, he had found the presence of mind to make a rough sketch of what he was seeing. Looking at it had nearly triggered another episode, but this time he had been able to fight it off. Instead he had thrown himself into searching for a source. Where could this have come from? Was there, perhaps, some truth to this? He had his doubts, but he refused to rule anything out. It was against his personal policies. Besides, in the end he was still left with the maddening realization that he had no idea where he had come from.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N:** It's been _months_ since I last updated this. Almost five months exactly, actually. I've been ridiculously busy. Anyway, I apologize for another short chapter after such a long wait. But this was all this chapter seemed to want to amount to. But anyway, onward!

Thank you to Josephine Falnor and cratermaker for reviewing chapter one!

**Disclaimer:** Death Note belongs to Ohba and Obata. And since I'm not the least bit Japanese, I'm pretty sure that's not me.

* * *

Mello woke with a start as the front door slammed loudly. This came as a surprise, since he wasn't aware of having fallen asleep. The result was that he was irritated because he had wasted an indeterminate amount of time and jumpy because he had been unaware of his surroundings during that time. He was even more irritated when Matt, rather than just searching the very small apartment for him, decided just to stand by the door and shout.

But he noticed that in addition to the nervousness brought on by knowing he had relinquished awareness of his surroundings, he was also clammy and a sheen of cold sweat hung drying on his brow. That damn dream again. The fires and the screaming. The mannequins burned first, then the church, and then the whole town went up and suddenly he was five years old again.

His hands shook as he recalled how real it had all been. Even now he could feel the blood and muck soaking his knees as the flames licked at his body, melting his flesh away and leaving him in too much pain to even scream. Blue eyes closed as the blonde shuddered, forcing the memories away and clearing his mind. It made no sense. None of it made sense. Somewhere in his mind he knew what it meant, but he had silenced that because he didn't want to hear it.

With a cat-like grace he turned over and rolled off the couch, finding his feet as he hit the floor. Quietly he rose and prowled over to Matt, his voice an annoyed growl when he spoke. "What?"

Rather than intimidated, Matt looked concerned by Mello's appearance. When he spoke it was with worry in his voice where they would usually be apology. "Are you alright?"

Mello scowled. "Of course I'm alright."

"You look terrible," Matt replied. "Are you sure you're not getting sick?"

At this Mello's scowl deepened as he answered with annoyance, "In all the time you've known me, have I ever once gotten sick?"

"Well, no," Matt said. "But there's a first time for everything. You look really pale. Maybe you should sit down."

With a sigh Mello did as Matt suggested, settling on the couch and pulling his laptop onto his lap. His mind, however, was still back in that long-forgotten town as he stared blankly at the screen. He felt Matt sit down next to him, but ignored the gamer until the weight of a gloved hand on his shoulder pulled him from his thoughts.

"Mello," Matt began softly, watching the blond through goggle covered eyes. "Something's not right. What's going on?"

With another soft sigh Mello let his eyes fall closed, trying to collect his thoughts. After a moment he opened them again, staring blankly at the floor rather than looking at Matt. Finally, very quietly, he spoke. "Just a dream. It felt so real, though. Everything…" He paused briefly to run his fingers over the smooth skin on the left side of his face, almost surprised to find it intact. When he spoke again his voice was a bit quieter. "Everything was burning."

At that Matt reached up to pull his goggles down around his neck, the orange plastic coming to rest against the fake fur of his collar. As far as he knew, Mello's only fear was fire. He had never known why the blond was so afraid of it. Neither had Mello. Matt could only guess that it had something to do with where Mello had come from. That, however, did them no good, as Mello couldn't remember anything about his life prior to the orphanage Wammy's had adopted him from.

All that remained was occasional nightmares and Mello's fear of fire, though even that wasn't certain. It frustrated the blond to no end that he could not remember. Sometimes, however, he was glad the memories were gone. If the nightmares were anything to judge by, he was better off without them.

What really puzzled him about these nightmares, however, was the scar on his face. In some of his dreams the left side of his face was marred by a huge burn scar. But his face was smooth and relatively unblemished. Sure he had a couple of small scars, but they were scarcely noticeable. And they were just little things from childhood. Simple scratches. The scar in his dreams looked as though half his face had been melted. The mannequins, too, were a recurring image in his dreams. And the burning church. The sounds of screaming nearly drowned out by the all consuming darkness of unconsciousness. The scent of charred flesh and the shrieking cries of livestock. All of it haunted him seemingly every time he closed his eyes. The nightmares had started out as infrequent annoyances, but now it seemed that every time he fell asleep he was assaulted by the feeling of smoke in his lungs and fire on his flesh.

"Mello…" Matt said softly, watching the Mafioso cautiously. "Mel, it's alright. It was just a dream."

Again the blond closed his eyes and heaved a deep sigh. "I know."


End file.
